Hot Sauce
by rainwater tears
Summary: Jim and Pam go to Taco Bell. Ridiculous and contrived fluff ensues.


The result of hot sauce packets and too much fluff. I actually own the hot sauce packets, and I'm saving the second one to throw at John Krasinski's head the next time I meet him. Please don't take this too seriously. I know it's contrived and just a little bit ridiculous.

--

They were in Taco Bell. He wasn't a big fan of Taco Bell, he kind of thought it was grimy, but neither of them had eaten since breakfast and it was the first food sign they'd seen in hours.

It was all Michael's fault, really. He'd been the one to send them on this "secret mission." The whole car ride had been uncomfortable. Neither of them was sure what to say, how to act. It had been months, _months_ since he'd returned to Scranton, but they still didn't know how to be around each other.

So Michael had stepped in.

"Jim, Pam, I've got an assignment for you."

They'd both looked up in surprise. It was obvious that Michael had known something was going on, Pam was actually pretty certain Jim had told him about Casino Night and his 3 years of unrequited love, but something had kept Michael from saying anything…at least publicly.

So he'd sent them off on a "voyage of epic proportions." Neither of them had been sure of what that mean, exactly, but it involved spending most of the day in a car, driving in the general direction of South. Michael had had Dwight write out directions, but they hadn't been able to figure out the strange codex Dwight had written them in. Hence the southward direction.

And the lack of food.

For the first few hours they'd just been quiet. After that there'd been a weak attempt at a game of "I spy," followed by some staring into space. Then they'd switched off, with Pam behind the wheel and Jim riding shot-gun. "I'm hungry," Pam had finally said, as the sun began to set.

Jim had nodded. "Me too."

"We should stop. Next place we see, we stop."

And that was how they ended up at Taco Bell.

--

"I'll have a half-pound cheesy bean and rice burrito," Pam told the teenager behind the counter.

"Half-pound? That's it? I'm disappointed, Beesly," Jim said. "Here you are, claiming to be hungry, and all you want is a half-pound burrito?"

"Haven't you seen the commercials? They're supposedly very filling," she tells him, but he's shaking his head at her with mock disappointment and for the first time in ages she relaxes.

When they have their food they stock up on hot sauce packets and head for a booth. "Now remember, Pam, this is _not_ ketchup. You don't want to over-do it," he tells her with a grin as he hands her a small packet and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"That just shows what you know," she tells him. "I eat spicy food all the time."

"Oh yeah, since when?" he asks, but she doesn't answer. Just looks down at her open burrito.

"This doesn't look appetizing," she finally says.

"I told you Taco Bell was grimy," he agrees.

"Yes, yes you did." She rifles through her hot sauce packets. This feels right, this joking around. "So, less awkward, huh?" she asks.

He nearly chokes on his bite of quesadilla. "What? Wow…yeah." He smiles at her. "Awkward equals bad. We should keep that in mind."

"Yup," she nods. "Definitely keep that in mind.

They talk for over an hour. She tells him about her art classes and he tries to explain the rules of Call of Duty to her (not that he knows them very well himself). When she goes up to get seconds from the pimple faced teenager, he mocks her mercilessly. "You'll pay for that Halpert," she tells him.

"Make me, Beesly."

That's when the food fight starts.

It's not an all out, cafeteria style show-down, but she smears cheese down his nose and he manages to get straws stuck in her hair and by the time the manager asks them to please leave as their presence is disruptive and "quite frankly, rather obnoxious and childlike," they're both so sticky that they're grateful for the rain that's started to fall.

"Wow, you've been kicked out of two major American restaurant chains now, Beesly. How does that feel?" he asks as they walk to the car.

"Oh, you know, I feel like it's one of my bigger accomplishments in life," she tells him.

In the car she wrings the water from her hair and he turns the heat on high to dry them out.

"Hey Jim," she says as he's about to back out of his parking space.

"Yeah?"

She blushes and looks down at her lap. Before she can chicken out she tosses the contents of her balled up fist at him. A small hot sauce packet hits the window next to his face and falls into his lap. He picks it up to read his "fortune. "The feeling is mutual."

He doesn't say anything, just shifts in his seat and slides a hand deep into his pocket. When he pulls it back out he's clutching his own packet. He hands it to her.

"Will you marry me?"


End file.
